


A Mother Knows

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Crossover, Episode Related, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Points of View, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-20
Updated: 2004-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Takes place during 410.  Decided to test my Debbie voice out, feedback would be lovely.





	A Mother Knows

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

She had slapped him on instinct. No one messed with her little brother without getting a mouthful, or handful, from her. Vic had fought like a son-of-bitch to make it those last four years. And no asshole, one of her sons or not, was going to pass off his life, or death, as cheap. Thank you very fucking much.

But that night on Liberty Avenue, Brian had slapped her back. Not literally but emotionally, and probably with a lot more force. She still believed he deserved to be hit, and boy had he been hit hard. Debbie took it as an indication that God existed and loved all her boys. God had a plan and reason for everything that happened, good or bad. And that included Brian’s cancer. Debbie chose to believe Brian was meant to learn a lesson, a lesson about respecting life, especially his own.

Everything Brian had said about Vic was true, but like she had told him, it was the way he said it, so nonchalantly. But Vic was getting his say. Brian had confided in her about his little visits. ‘Way to go little brother, getting the last word even in death’.

The next morning Debbie had found her way to church for the first time in six years. She’d knelt and prayed for Vic, but more so for Brian. Vic, she knew, could handle his own. But Brian was a different story altogether. He talked real big about not needing anyone, but she remembered that trembling kid who used to show up on her door step at three in the morning, already turning black and blue. While he had grown up and done real well for himself, that hurt child still hid deep in his soul. All his bullshit he threw around to everyone, the ‘fuck this’ and ‘fuck that’ talk, well, Debbie knew better. What was that saying, the guilty dog always barks loudest? Plato was goddamned right about that one, and Brian barked louder than most. Just in another language.

When Joan Kinney entered the church, Debbie wasn’t surprised exactly, more like enraged at the hypocrisy of this woman. But more than that, she was angry that this ‘holier than thou’ woman had a son with cancer and didn’t know. She had a son who felt so unloved that he couldn’t even tell his own mother that he had cancer. Jesus fucking Christ.

So Debbie told her as politely as she could. She didn’t quite know why she felt obligated. Perhaps because she was a mother, maybe even to prove that, despite what this woman thought of her, Debbie was a *damn* good parent.

But later that afternoon, Debbie had begun to worry. Would this woman offer Brian any kind of warmth or love, even in the face of cancer? Could she? After all, Joanie was the one who stoically stood aside and let that drunk bastard beat Brian to a pulp. She fucking watched as that monster took his fists to an innocent, beautiful, little boy. Not just any boy, her son. Twenty years hadn’t changed that, Debbie knew. And cancer probably wouldn’t either. 

‘Fucking hell, I’ve sent a monster to do a mother’s job,’ had been Deb’s last thought as she walked out the door, tuna casserole in hand.

******  
Beginning her walk to the sixth floor—thanks to the broken elevator—Debbie made a conscious decision to attempt staying out of other people’s lives. At least to a certain point. By the time she reached the top, she was already plotting how to help Mel deal with postpartum depression.

Standing on the landing outside the loft, Debbie noticed the door wasn’t pulled completely shut. Her motherly instincts kicked in immediately, smelling trouble. Ever since the unfortunate incident a few years back that resulted in a certain blonde boy’s New York escape, Brian had become a queeny bitch about proper door/alarm etiquette. 

Pulling the blue monstrosity along its track, Debbie ran inside. She dropped the casserole on the counter and began frantically searching for signs of mishap. Her mind began wrapping around such possibilities as knife slashers, dead bodies, Stockwell’s revenge, and suicide. And of course there was always the off chance that Justin had killed Brian. No one would ever convict him of murder.

Debbie’s frantic eyes searched the loft’s living area. She didn’t see anyone or anything out of place. ‘Oh lord, what if someone’s flung them out a window?’ But the windows were latched and no bodies were smashed on the ground below.

Apprehensively, Debbie made her way into the bedroom, eyes focused on the bathroom. If she were a psycho murderer she’d definitely hide in a bathroom. Grabbing a rather large dildo off the bed’s ledge, she slowing tiptoed her way into the small room. At first glance, she saw nothing. Then, suddenly, her peripheral vision caught a dash of red to her left. Turning, dildo raised high above her head, Debbie came face to face with herself. Heart pounding, Debbie sighed with relief. ‘Thank Jesus it was only the wig.’

Satisfied with her sleuthing, Debbie retreated from the bathroom. Putting the dildo back on the bedside, she took notice of the bed—and its occupants—for the first time. She almost screamed. There lay Brian and Justin, dead as doornails. Tears welled in her eyes as she walked around to Justin’s side, softly touching his blonde hair. Dead Justin suddenly whimpered softly, scratching his chest. Dead Justin was in fact, alive. A tear rolled down her cheek as Debbie silently thanked some greater power that her boys were alright.

They were more than all right. Lying face to face, Justin had his left leg slung over Brian’s hip. Arms wrapped tightly around each other, Justin’s head fit snuggly under Brian’s chin, hair fluttering softly with his breath. Both boys were clad in sweat pants, bare chests rising and falling in sync. She couldn’t believe that all the commotion hadn’t woken them up.

Backing down the steps, Debbie, now more than ever, was convinced that Brian needed someone’s love. And while having a mother is nice, Debbie bet Brian would pick having a Justin instead. She really needn’t have worried at all. Tucking the dish in the refrigerator, Debbie couldn’t help but smile. Her wounded little boy really was all grown up. Sure, there was still a lot of work to be done, but he had all the help, love, and blonde haired support he needed.

Shutting the door quietly, Debbie began her six floor decline. For the second time in two days, she believed fiercely in God’s existence, a god who loved all his children, not just an elite few. She also could not brush off the feeling that Vic was helping to pull a few strings. ‘Last word again, you little shit.’ And Debbie wouldn’t want it any other way.


End file.
